Souls
by KiwiStar
Summary: *A drabble*. The current situation with Sam's soul leads Dean to ponder the fundamentals of souls, and whether or not angels had them. Dean/Cas. Minor language.


**Hullo, this is my first Supernatural fic, and I pretty much got the idea from listening to "Quote" by Evans Blue. I do not own anything, and I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors. Thank you. :)**

Please read, review, and enjoy.

To Infinity and Beyond,

Kiwi

* * *

"Quote, you are my soul, unquote. Now does that sound familiar? Kiss the boy and make him feel this way."

* * *

Souls.

Dean had been thinking a lot about them lately. And not particularly when Castiel had withrawn his hand from Sam's chest and relayed the fact that dearest Sammy had had his soul ripped from his body. He had been far too busy trying to regain the lost soul to even try to grasp that Sam was without one. Because, when there was a problem, the only solution was to fix it. Fix the broken pieces and mend them again. Find the pieces of Sam and glue them back together. It was shortly after that, when the dust had settled, that he had started to really think about souls. A soul was one's wholly being. Demons were tormented souls searching for vessels.

Then what about angels?

Did angels have them? Or was their Grace considered their soul?

Souls were delicate, and they were a lot to take from a person. That he knew. Sam wasn't _Sam_ when he came back from Hell. It looked like Sam, it spoke like Sam, but it wasn't _Sam_. His Sammy was still locked in a box with the key scattered amongst four horsemen who had missed their parade. A soulless Sam was something he wouldn't mind forgetting.

And it got him thinking about his own. He had been to Hell, he had been to Heaven and he had made it out of both with his soul. Whether or not it was still intact was something he didn't know. He had a conscience, wasn't that the same thing? A regard to what was right and what was wrong? Empathy and sympathy? All little aspects that added up to a soul? That must've been his soul, right? All those little things added to make one.

Dean let out a small sigh, hoping Cas didn't detect it. Leaning against the hood of the Impala, they had been watching the sun set, something he wouldn't admit he enjoyed every now and again. He took a swig of his beer, and turned his head to face Castiel. The Winchester opened his mouth to ask the question that had been lingering on his tongue. _Do angels have souls, Cas?_

What he felt was the warm presence of lips against his, and it took him a moment to register what Cas was doing. It was a small kiss, chaste and innocent. _Pure_. The gentle caress of soft lips against his own. He felt it then, the surging flutter in his chest that stretched from his center and down every inch. Warmth, as in a heart beating fresh, rich and new blood through weathered veins, as the numbing feel of cold hands under warm water, the feeling of being secure.

Almost as soon as it had started, the kiss ended and Castiel retracted, hesitant and unsure. Dean kept his eyes shut, unaware he had even closed them. "Dammit, Cas." His gruff voice rumbled deep in his throat, moistening his lips. Eyes still shut, ears listening as their breaths fell into unison and his heart settled.

It was in that moment that Dean had an epiphany, a grand moment where it all became clear and the world continued its cycle, where he realized that his soul, or whatever was left of it, lay in the angel beside him. All his hope, and his faith, lay in the rebellious angel in the dirty trenchcoat. Dean rested a hand on Cas' neck, brushing his thumb along the other's jugular. Blue eyes rose to meet green, and a small, barely there smile tilted Dean's lips. And in a world of angels, demons, Purgatory and chaos, he had come to realize that a soul didn't have to reside in one's self. A soul was what made someone who they were, the guiding light in the dark that led you home. He took to Castiel for guidance, to find what little faith he had because, regardless of how many times he fucked up, Castiel still held faith in him.

"You are my soul," his voice was faint.

"Dean, I'm not sure I—"

He silenced the angel with a kiss.


End file.
